


All That You Never Wanted

by theatergay



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jack and Crutchie are both mentioned but not in it, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 21:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13533198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatergay/pseuds/theatergay
Summary: "It's okay to be scared. Me too, still. Just know that we've all been scared, you know what I’m saying?” Race nods, bright blue eyes tearing up again for an entirely different reason. “We’re all gonna be here for you, Race.""For sure?""For sure."-Or: Race is feeling overwhelmingly anxious at the concept of running Manhattan all on his own.





	All That You Never Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a spin on a lyric from Declan McKenna's "Brazil"

Race lets himself into the Brooklyn lodging house just after sunset, brushing past the newsies standing and crashing up the stairs to the room that he knows as Spot’s. It’s close to dinner and there's no guarantee that Spot will be there, but he needs the safe place to hide regardless. He's aware of how loud his steps are, but the Brooklyn newsies are worryingly more rambunctious than the Manhattan boys, and Race doubts any of them notice over the din. 

He knocks on Spot’s door harshly. It’s more of a banging, really, but he hates to think of it as such an awful noise. Spot gets the door quickly, and looks up at Race in slightly awed surprise as Race lets himself into the room and sits down on the bed. He's chewing lightly on the collar of his shirt as he does such. Spot sits down next to him, gently setting an arm around Race’s shoulder.

“I don't think I know what I’m doing anymore, Spot,” Race breathes out after a very long moment. His voice warbles slightly as if he's trying to hold back tears. “If Jack goes to Santa Fe and Crutchie leaves with him, that puts me in charge. I sell enough and I’ve been here longest, next to the two of them at least. Davey’s got some fancy shmancy s-word for it, but I can never remember what he says cause I don't get words enough.”

“Seniority?” Spot offers up, gracefully not mentioning Race’s sudden appearance or how clearly agitated he is.

“Yeah, that's it,” Race says. “I've got the seniority for it.” There's a pause, Spot waiting for Race to go on and Race waiting to prompted. Logically, he thinks, he should feel honored. Leading a borough of New York newsies is no small feat, and being a leader is a largely sought after honor. But the emotional side of him, the side which he's so wisely decided not to openly acknowledge for seventeen years, is terrified. He’s not the type of kid to go shouting every qualm and worry from the rooftops - he almost laughs out loud at that, thinking of clambering up the ladder to Jack’s penthouse and leaning over the ledge and shout it out, telling the world that he's never as brave as he acts, never has been, and then he does laugh out loud at the thought of even considering showing emotion outside the close confines of Spot’s bedroom.

“What's so funny, Race?” Spot asks kindly, and then Race is crying, letting tears flow freely. He doesn't try to hide it, he knows it would be futile even if he did. Spot makes some indescribable noise out of pity, or a similar emotion that Race can't tell, but then Spot is tugging Race into his arms and petting his hair and shushing him gently and ignoring Race’s tears soaking into his shirt, and Race thinks he might be safe for the first time in who knows how many years.

“I'm scared, Spot,” he manages to choke out through his sobs.

“I know,” Spot says, rocking Race gently as if he were an infant. “I know, I was scared too.”

“It'll be my fault if they get hurt,” he says, still speaking into Spot’s chest.

“Don't worry about that yet,” Spot advises. “You can't. Worry about that if you have to lead. We still don't know how long this strike is going to last.” Race tenses and pulls his head away from Spot’s shoulder.

“Yeah, whose fault is that?” he says, trying to sound strong and powerful but only coming across as more scared than previously.

“I know, Race, I’m sorry, we all-”

He doesn't get to finish his much repeated explanation because Race is crying again, quieter this time, but heaving sobs that shake his whole body. He doesn't move, just lets Race lean his head back into his shoulder and keeps gently reassuring.

Race stills after five or so minutes, looking up at Spot through wide eyes. His face is blotchy and tear stained, but Spot doesn't care in the slightest.

“Hey, babe,” he says gently. Race rolls his eyes at the affectionate nickname that Spot reserves solely for when Race is upset. “Good to let it out?” Race nods and wipes the back of his hand under his nose.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down and sniffling slightly.

“Don't be,” Spot tells him. “I know. It's scary. Just listen to me right now, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I was terrified to lead Brooklyn. Didn't have a clue what I was doing. More often than not, I still don't.” Race’s gaze shifts back up to Spot at that confession. “It's okay to be scared. Me too, still. Just know that we've all been scared, you know what I’m saying?” Race nods, bright blue eyes tearing up again for an entirely different reason. “We’re all gonna be here for you, Race. Brooklyn and ‘hattan. Just cause you have the title of leader doesn't mean you've got to lead all on your own. And you know Kelly, what're the chances that he'll back out of running to Santa Fe when the time comes to actually go?” 

"Very large," Race admits with a small laugh. “Thanks." He's still slightly shaky but feeling considerably better than before. “I love you.” He leans forward quickly, brushing a kiss to Spot’s lips that Spot barely has the time to reciprocate.

“I love you too, Race,” Spot says genuinely. “I’m gonna have your back no matter what. So are all the boys. You know that?”

Race laughs again gently, thinking of his mentor and brother and best friend all in one’s favorite catchphrase, feeling no less applicable situation than the present.

“For sure?”

“For sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how much pride I have in this one, and it's one of the shortest things I've written (both in word count and time spent on it), but it's Sprace and it's emotional and sappy and featuring protective Spot, which means that it's typical Me. I stayed up stupidly late writing this and as am currently feeling the regret as I post this at 6:16am before school. As always, I thrive off your comments and kudos; I know I may not respond to each but I read and cherish every single one. It significantly expands my gay little heart so thank you for all of them.


End file.
